


Acid Wit

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [68]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is taking out THRUSH employees and Waverly wants to get to the bottom of it.   The ensuing debate is heated and angry, all the while someone is writing it down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acid Wit

I think I gained my name as Notetaker when I was about four. Even though I couldn’t really write, my mom said I would listen to people talk and scribble away on paper. At first it was nonsense, but as I learned to write, my love for note taking grew. I was the only guy in my stenography class.

Yeah, so some of the jocks made fun of me… until they needed notes from this class or that. Then they learned that it was better to have me on their side and treat me well, lest they end up with a bunch of semester-old notes just in time for finals. That didn’t mean that I didn’t get into my share of scrapes, but I learned how to take care of myself and it turned into a win/win scenario for me.

I worked it into quite a little business at the university and then faced the big beautiful world of, _What am I going to do after college_? I mean, the one thing I was really good at was taking notes, and I didn’t see the Vietnam War needing a whole lot of stenographers. I wasn’t much of a fighter.

I am proud of my country, and if that meant having to die for it, well, I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but there you have it. I was merely waiting for my number to come up when I got a knock on my door. There was this little old man standing there.

“Mr. Daniel Deluth?”

“Junior or Senior,” Mom asked out of habit.

The man smiled. “I believe junior.”

“Oh, no, you're from the draft board.” Mom went white and I rushed to her side.

“It’s okay, Mom, I’ll be fine.”

“But what if you aren’t, Note?”

“Then it’s what He wants, Mom.” I was trying to be all cool about it, but I was shaking in my boots. I didn’t want to die.

“Ah, so you're the young man they call Notetaker.”

I was a little confused, but I nodded as I got Mom some water. “I am.”

“Then I have a proposal for you. One that makes the most of your abilities and you allow you to serve your country to a much fuller capacity.” He held out a hand that was surprisingly strong. “My name is Mr. Kelly. Have you ever heard of UNCLE?”

*****

And that was how it started. I was offered, and happily accepted, a job with UNCLE. I wasn’t sure why they needed me when they had a whole department of secretaries, but I soon found out. The sort of people UNCLE dealt with were not the nicest sort. They needed someone who could take notes, and who could also defend himself if the need arose. It did. Over the course of the next few years, I’d had my nose broken, been stabbed with a pen, and even knocked out with the leg of a chair. It’s all good, and I’ve been known to break a few noses as well. I’m no one’s whipping boy.

This particular day, I was headed towards Conference Room A. It was very rare that Mr. Waverly ever called a meeting of his senior Section Two agents. Usually there aren’t that many of them in house at the New York headquarters at the same time, but I think it’s more because of the testosterone poisoning. Each one of them sort of wandered around trying to out-impress the others with his reputation and ability.

I was wandering along, in no hurry to expose myself to the waves of _machismo_ when Napoleon Solo breezed past me, speeding up his pace just a little when he saw Illya Kuryakin ambling slowly along in front of me, his nose buried in a report. To be honest, it was why I was hanging back. I didn’t want to do anything that might set him on edge.

It was amazing how well those two worked together. You’d wouldn’t think they could find any common ground, and yet they did. They were quietly referred to as the Dynamic Duo, or Waverly’s Golden Boys, behind their backs. To their faces, they were always referred to as sir.

“Illya.” The blond head turned in Solo’s direction and I slowed my pace even more to give them some privacy. Yes, I take notes, but I’m not a snoop. “How are you?”

“Confused.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t remember the last time Mr. Waverly called a meeting of all the senior enforcement agents.”

“Do you think it’s because of that uprising in South Africa?”

“You mean the one we just stopped or the one that has just started?”

I grinned at that, and saw Mr. Kuryakin looking at me from the corner of his eye. He smiled. “You have a point.”

They approached the conference room, and Illya held back to let Napoleon precede him into the room. It was packed with white-shirted men – Section Two was still just guys at this point, – all wearing holsters and a worried look around their eyes.

Solo spotted a chair and moved to claim it, but Kuryakin hung back, standing by the door. That didn’t surprise me. The room was stuffy and stale smelling. I moved to the front and off to one side where a chair and small table awaited me. I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out Old Blue, my trusty fountain pen. Its familiar shape permitted me to center myself and prepare for the task ahead.

The door slid back once again and Alexander Waverly entered. He glanced around, then nodded to Kuryakin and pushed forward to the front of the room. The buzz of conversation faded as he passed, as if a blanket of silence was being unfurled.

“Mr. Kuryakin, would you be good enough to dim the lights?”

Kuryakin complied and a screen lowered into place. A grainy black and white photo appeared. Mr. Waverly cleared his throat and began to speak.

“This is Alfred Camus, a THRUSH operative. He was last seen exiting a Des Moines restaurant this past Tuesday when a masked person ran up to him and threw a beaker of a liquid into his face. Mr. Camus screamed and collapsed. He died in agony several hours later. The liquid was determined to be sulfuric acid.”

Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the room as Camus’s photo was replaced by another. I glanced up at it quickly, just so I could make a hurried description, mostly for my own purpose, and continued to write.

“Mr. Wayland was just leaving the Baltimore satrapy last week when a masked man yelled his name and threw a glass of sulfuric acid into his face. He lingered for two days before succumbing to his injuries.” The photo was replaced by another six, some men, some women. “In each case, the THRUSH operative was surprised when exiting a building. Each one was doused with sulfuric acid by a masked person, who completely avoided detection or apprehension, and in each case, the victim succumbed to their injuries.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

I glanced up and tried to keep my face neutral. Borden was not my favorite person around headquarters and I avoided him at all cost. He was the worst sort of bully, seemingly kind until he found a weakness to exploit.

He thought I was all brains and no brawn until he jumped me in the gym one day and he ended up in Medical. I admit it was luck, but he never failed to try and get me fired from that day forward. Thankfully I have friends in high places.

“Yes, Mr. Borden?” Waverly sounded tired, as if he was at his wit’s end.

“I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“What are you saying, Jack?” Solo turned in his seat.

“Well, all of these people – they’re all THRUSH. The last time I checked, we were at war with them. From what I can tell, this guy is doing us a favor.”

“Have you ever experienced sulfuric acid, Mr. Borden?” Illya’s question was almost inaudible.

“Can’t say that I have. I’m too busy working the back alleys to play around in a lab coat.” There wasn’t any love between those two, especially when Kuryakin was promoted over him.

“When I was a student, one of my classmates was accidently splashed with a small amount of sulfuric acid across his left hand. He was found hanging from a rafter in his room. A note explained that he could no longer stand the pain, even three months later.”

“Health care isn’t exactly state of the art in the USSR, Mr. Kuryakin.”

“The accident took place at the Sorbonne, and he was given excellent care, the injury was so insidious, it was crippling. Once sulfuric acid hits the skin, it dissolves everything in its path. It can’t easily be washed off and it is high corrosive.”

“So what’s your point? That these people deserve compassion?”

“If we lose our compassion, we are no better than the enemy we battle.”

“No, we –“

“If we could refocus on the topic at hand,” Napoleon interrupted. It earned him a glare and a low mutter from Borden.

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.” Waverly nodded to his CEO. “The reality is that these people come from all levels of the organization, and are not merely agents. Whoever is attacking them doesn’t care if they are management or a mere secretary.”

A young woman’s face popped up. She was pretty, mid-twenties I would guess, and she was laughing. The next photo was of a swathed person, tubes sticking out from beneath the bandages. “Miss Calhoun was a low level file clerk. She lingered three days, and left behind a small child.”

“Married women shouldn’t be working,” Borden muttered. My jaw nearly hit the table top as I jotted down his comment.

“She wasn’t married.”

“Then she got what she deserved.”

“How dare you?!”

I looked around to see who said that, and realized it was me. I’d never felt such a fury in all my life. Seeing red, you do literally see red. “How dare you judge people and their actions? You don’t know that woman and her circumstances. You don’t know any of those people and yet you're willing to play God and decide who does and doesn’t deserve to live. And again I ask how dare you?!”

Borden stood and started towards me. I swear I would have taken him on, then and there, but Napoleon was at my side. “It’s okay, Note,” he murmured. “He’s not worth it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two other agents had corralled Borden and were escorting him from the room. Borden was not happy.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I spoke to Solo and to Mr. Waverly. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Pish tosh, man, I would have though less of you if you hadn’t.” Waverly’s eyes were kind. “It’s all right.”

“But not for those people.” I kept thinking of what I’d heard. What of their parents, wives, husbands, and families?

“I will let you on to a little secret, Mr. Deluth.” Mr. Waverly leaned close. “Those victims were all fictitious.”

“Sir?”

“It was a little exercise in ethics. I think it turned out well.” Mr. Waverly straightened and smiled gently. “Make sure none of that gets into the notes, Mr. Deluth. At least not for the moment. As Mr. Kuryakin pointed out, without compassion, we become worse than our enemies.”

****

I have to admit feeling a little better after Mr. Waverly told me that, although Borden’s reaction still sickened me. How could someone who is supposed to be taking care of people carry that much anger and hatred inside?

I worked a bit later than usual that night, and was exhausted by the time I headed out the employees' exit to the parking garage. Madeline flirted with me a bit, and I knew she was begging me to take her out. One day I would, but tonight I wanted to call my folks, tell them I loved them and then go looking for the biggest bottle of beer in the fridge.

I handed in my badge and headed out. I was only a few feet from the door when I heard a shout,

“Hey, Deluth!”

No one called me that. I looked to see who was yelling and I felt the splash of liquid against my face. Instantaneously I realized what had happened and started to scream at the bite on my skin.

My whole life flashed before my eyes, boring and dull, but mine nonetheless. I writhed on the ground, screaming and felt hands on me.

Then I heard a familiar voice. It’s was Mr. Kuryakin. “You are all right, Mr. Deluth. It was merely distilled water.”

That’s when I realized he was right. My face didn’t hurt at all. Cautiously I opened my eyes. “I’m okay?”

“Yes, you were an unwitting part of an elaborate trap. I was supposed to be the victim, not you.”

“What?” I looked past him and saw two agents struggling with a third man, his arms already restrained. “Is that Borden?”

“Yes. Thankfully the man hasn’t spent much time in a lab – he wouldn’t know the difference between a beaker of sulfuric acid and distilled water.”

“But why would he do such a thing?”

“I do not know. After time, some agents cannot handle the responsibility that has been granted them. They go rogue for whatever reason.”

“What will happen to him?” I watched Borden being dragged off. He was screaming terrible vengeful things and I suddenly thought of my folks, innocent and vulnerable.

“He will be detrained, and placed somewhere that will prevent him from being a menace to himself or others.”

“He could have done so much good. All you guys, you… you all try so hard and fight so long.”

Kuryakin helped me to my feet. “And for some, the fight is too much, the cost too great.”

“How do you know the difference?”

“You don’t. That’s the frightening part. At least he will not be allowed to hurt anyone now.”

Solo approached us, and clapped Kuryakin on the shoulder. “Well, that played out just about the way we thought it would.”

“With the exception of Mr. Deluth ending up the target instead of me.” Kuryakin smiled at me. “He is rather shaken up by the perverseness of human nature.”

“Well, partner, if it’s all the same with you, I’ll still take it as a victory.” Solo held out his hand. “Thank you for help, Note.”

“I did nothing.” I was still shaking. The smile that answered me was kind and so sincerely that my stomach started to calm down.

“No, you did something. You thought with your heart and spoke up to stop an injustice. Have you ever considered a career in Section Two?”

My hand went to my breast pocket and found the comforting shape of Old Blue. “No, sir, I’m happy to be doing what I’m doing and helping folks along the way.”

A shout went up and it drew our attention to where Borden was being dragged away. “If only more people felt like you, Note,” Solo said shaking his head. “He could have done so much good.”

Suddenly Borden broke loose. It would have made sense if he’d headed for the street, but instead he headed right for us, literally frothing at the mouth, and right into the path of a car.

At the last second, I saw a cruel smile on Borden’s face just before the car caught him and tossed him in the air.

My stomach twisted and I turned from the sight as I heard both the Section Two agents gasp. They both left me, and slowly I trudged back into reception and sat down.

“Forget something, Note?” Of course, Madeline wouldn’t have heard or seen anything.

“Just a reminder of how delicate life is and how quickly it can be taken.”

“What happened?”

I shook my head, trying to find the words. I made a career of writing down what other people said, but now I was at a loss. I sank into a chair and then felt her hand on mine.

“What can I do to help?”

Those were the best words of my life. I looked into Madeline’s eyes. “You already have.”

Solo and Kuryakin came in and saw us. Solo smiled at me and nodded. Kuryakin looked a bit more pensive.

“Never underestimate the importance of a partner, Note.”

It was good advice, advice I would later take to the altar, but for the moment I was just happy to feel her hand in mine, knowing that my family was okay and that I’d made the world safer, albeit a bit unwittingly. Not bad for a note taker.

 

 


End file.
